


like they do in Sreng

by Anonymous



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Fingering, Come Eating, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Don't Like Don't Read, Dubious Consent, Extremely Underage, Hand Jobs, Incest, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, Shotacon, Sibling Incest, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:40:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23503246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Miklan
Comments: 11
Kudos: 66
Collections: Anonymous





	like they do in Sreng

When Miklan bathes him, he starts so gentle. 

He sits Sylvain on a stool and puts more than enough water and soap onto a washcloth. He’s sure to cover his eyes when he pours water over them to wash out his hair — doesn’t get any in his ears. He cleans his shoulders and armpits, brushes his hands over his nipples, cupping them — kissing Sylvain’s forehead. He washes his thighs, making sure to spread them wide to get in those tricky creases of his hips. He’s extra careful when he washes his genitals — scrubbing hard at his backside until he gets to the bottom and slips his finger in, just a bit. 

  
Sylvain thinks it’s a little weird, but Mik’s being so patient with him — he’s so attentive. He wants him to be as clean as he can and Sylvain likes to be clean. The finger feels too big and it makes him squirm, but he tolerates it. He doesn’t want Miklan to think he’s mad at him — not when everyone else is.

He doesn’t know that Miklan’s been saving himself for tonight — he hasn’t peaked even once all the month long. 

Miklan talks as he continues to clean him. He tells Sylvain that in Sreng some people clean each other using their mouths. Sylvain loves stories. He leans in to listen to his brother at the edge of the stool, enjoying the sensation of getting his hair washed. Their faces are so close. 

Miklan makes it sound so exciting. He adjusts the inflection of his voice and smiles at him. He gives him a little kiss on the mouth once he’s finished.

Sylvain blushes. He doesn’t really know what to do. He knows what a kiss is and what it means. He didn’t think Miklan meant a kiss when he was talking about Sreng. 

Miklan asks if Sylvain will clean him now, and Sylvain wants to be a good little brother — he does, so he tries, leaning forward again. 

It’s so short. Wet and cute. Sylvain bumps his lips against him and quickly pulls away. Miklan laughs. “That’s not how a real Sreng cleans their brother.” His hand is heavy on the back of Sylvain’s head, cupping it — causing Sylvain to look deep into his eyes — trusting, waiting. 

“Let me show you again.”

The next kiss is aggressive. Miklan’s mouth is hot. His spit dribbles down Sylvain’s chin as he licks at him. 

Sylvain’s face is so red. He doesn’t know what to do with his own mouth to clean Miklan back.He tries not to tense up. He parts his lips, trembling against him. This isn’t like Miklan’s usual touches. 

Miklan’s hands are still lightly brushing against his body, wandering into the places he’s been so careful to scrub — checking, making sure that he’s reached everything. He lingers on his backside again, hiking Sylvain up from the stool into his lap. 

Sylvain sits on his cock, rubbing himself against it — curious. It’s slippery enough to be fun; it feels good. They’re both wet and warm from the water. He doesn’t want to fall, so he leans forward to wrap his arms around Miklan’s waist. 

Miklan takes over, readjusting them comfortably on the floor. He parts Sylvain’s legs, pulling them to hook around his back. His cock sticks straight up between them, throbbing, surrounded by the tender flesh of Sylvain’s thighs. 

Sylvain’s never seen it like this. He gasps, quiet and intense, when Miklan catches him staring, and grabs his hands, spreading the fingers and curling them around his cock.

They can’t quite reach all the way around, but _it’s alright, it’s okay_ , Miklan still rubs his fingers over his cockhead. There’s something thick beading there, and it’s intriguing him. Sylvain sticks his tongue out to concentrate, rubbing the pre-cum wherever he thinks it should go, encouraged by Miklan’s praises. His older brother can see how hard he’s working. Damp bangs are pushed out of the way of his eyes accompanied by an urgent plea to _“keep going.”_

He doesn’t know quite what Miklan is trying to get him to do — he’s never experienced this; his dick doesn’t react like this — not like this. He keeps going though, because he doesn’t feel like it’s supposed to stop. 

His hands are sticky with the pre-cum that continues to make it easy to glide. Miklan’s cock throbs in response and there is a pit in Sylvain’s stomach that aches to be filled at the sight of it. He brushes a hand underneath the dripping head, pressing hard enough against the frenulum to make Miklan groan and dip forward a bit. 

Sylvain stills, tensing, thinking he’s in pain. The concern on his face morphs into an expression of confusion and surprise when Miklan shoves his fingers away. He grabs Sylvain by his still damp hair and pulls his head down, pressing his cock to Sylvain’s lips. 

Sylvain mumbles against it. The throb causes him to part his lips, breathing softly. He looks up into his brother’s eyes — questioning. 

“It’s okay,” Miklan tells him, “this is how we’ll make sure it really gets clean.” 

He taps at Sylvain’s jaw and Sylvain drops it, realizing the nature of the request. He closes his eyes, adjusting to the feeling of his mouth being filled with cock for the first time. 

It’s big. The stretch burns. Sylvain chokes and his eyes fill with tears. He’s going to be sore if he keeps this up, but Miklan pets his hair, tells him he’s doing so well and he wants to be good — he wants to be good to Miklan. 

His movements are shallow and slow. Sylvain can’t take much at first. The sting of tears make it harder to focus on relaxing. He’s not trying to cry, he’s not trying to _upset_ Miklan.

He can barely fit a few inches, but Miklan doesn’t mind — a wet mouth is a wet mouth. This mouth though? His brother’s mouth? He’s sick of watching all of the food in the house go directly to it. Sylvain always has his mouth full of something, always something to say — sly, mischievous, still seeking more attention when he already has everything he could ever need. He leaves Miklan feeling empty, taking more and more from him. So far tonight he’s been patient, able to push those conflicted feelings away, but right now he wants to take him — he needs to take this from him. 

He likes Sylvain better like this, drool overflowing on his cock, coughing but still compliant. He pulls out a little bit, then slides forward again, pressing against the back of his throat and Sylvain takes it — he takes him so well. It’s almost as if he was born to do this — born to belong to Miklan. Miklan wants to him to remember this, to make sure he never pleasures another person without thinking about the first time he trusted someone enough to give them access to his body.

Miklan watches him struggle. He’s trying too hard, tensing too much. It’s fine for a start, but it’s not going to end well for him if he keeps up this amount of pressure. He strokes the side of Sylvain’s face, hand in his hair, directing him, telling him what feels best, teaches his baby brother how to suck cock so well and _shit_ he’s already close. The sounds of Sylvain gurgling on his cock and the spit that’s spreading everywhere is more than enough for him. He’s gone so long without the salvation of his hand, much less a mouth, much less _Sylvain’s_ mouth.

Sylvain looks angelic: face as ruddy as his hair, skin so soft and ivory smooth, smelling fresh from his bath — like a little flower that opens up only for him, sweet as can be. 

His muscles are weak, his body is pliant. He squirms desperately — shuffling his lower body in response to Miklan’s firm treatment. 

Miklan spies his little erection. It’s so cute how hard he is over merely giving himself up like this. He’s too preoccupied with his lesson, however. Sylvain will have to take care of it himself.

“You’re hard too, Syl. You should touch yourself. It won’t be painful, it’ll feel good. Promise.”

Sylvain has touched himself before, a few times, yeah, but not like this — never like this. He didn’t feel like this then — so on fire, like he was seconds away from crumbling into ash. He tries to copy what Miklan has him doing earlier, but it doesn’t feel the same; it doesn’t feel as good as when he touched Miklan. 

He wants to tell him, wants ask him what to do, but he can’t say anything while Mik’s still deep in his mouth. He cries with frustration because Miklan was right, everything feels so _good_ but nothing he’s doing is going to be enough to make it _stop._

Miklan likes Sylvain’s crying. He thinks it looks good on him. It makes him want to reach down and help — to come and save him like a good older brother should. 

But he also wants to cum, and he’s closer to that anyway. 

He tightens his hold in Sylvain’s hair and slides a little faster, fast enough to make some sounds. 

_The sounds of Sylvain choking and moaning_.

_ The sounds of spit and drool squelching. _

_The interruption of words that Miklan could try to make out, but it doesn’t matter — he’s paid enough attention to them tonight._

_  
_He’s done enough work to ensure that Sylvain knows how to properly worship him.

He tells Sylvain to suck harder, shows him how to hollow his cheeks, and Sylvain copies him without thinking — without stopping to take a breath. 

It’s the sight of Sylvain going unconscious that does it for Miklan. 

He collapses, and Miklan cums — spilling from his lips and out into his face, oozing into his hair. 

He lowers Sylvain’s body to rest on his back, noting that Sylvain is still hard even while he’s passed out. 

Miklan laughs at that, gathering his seed from Sylvain’s lips and cheeks, slathering it onto his brother’s cock, playing with him. Sylvain doesn’t move much, just breathes — deep and slow. The heat of the environment had already made him dangerously lightheaded. It’s not particularly surprising that all of this would cause him to pass out. 

Miklan can’t leave him like this, with his cock still painfully hard. He’s worked himself into this state from being so obedient to Miklan. It’s Miklan’s turn to take care of him again. 

He spreads Sylvain’s legs open, sticking his pinky inside. It’s still somewhat wet from before, but he doesn’t push in too far, filling him just enough to put pressure in all the right places. He takes his time, making sure to stroke Sylvain’s cock frequently enough that it stays hard.

Sylvain starts to stir — breath quickening. His eyelashes flutter, and he finally moans — _whines_. It’s a desperate sound that makes Miklan grip harder. 

Sylvain’s hips begin to move, pushing up, wanting _more_ , unable to speak coherently yet, but he _wants_ it — this is what he wanted, not his own touch — he wanted _Miklan’s_. 

Miklan doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t acknowledge that Sylvain is awake or that anything has changed. He continues to milk him. 

Sylvain finally finds enough strength to try and pull himself up. It’s just the top half of his body; he wants to see what Miklan’s doing that makes him feel so good. Miklan stares into his eyes like he wants to devour him. Sylvain whimpers, bucking up into his hand. 

“Mik...” he whispers, his throat aching from the abuse of his brother’s cock, “What’s going to happen?” 

Miklan pulls him into his chest, letting his legs still flop uselessly where they are on the ground, giving a little twist to Sylvain’s cock and _relishing_ the way his mouth falls open, whining openly now, admissive and _loud_. He has no idea what he’s doing to him, looking like this, the feel of the little throb in his scarred hands, already roughened by the years of lance training that Sylvain had yet to catch up with. 

“It’s okay. Don’t be scared. This is what’s supposed to happen, you’re doing so well Syl.” He twists and tugs more, elated at how wet Sylvain is, how much his body begs to be ruined by his older brother. 

Sylvain digs his fingers hard into Miklan’s arms, eyes rolling toward the back of his head with little pants and gasps — a round of whispers that will haunt his dreams until the day he’s close enough to sink his lance into the place where his heart now beats, inconsolable. 

“ _Mik...Mik...Miklan!”_

“Cum for me Syl, let it go. Relax.” 

Sylvain sobs, pushing his face into whatever part of Miklan he can reach as he leaks into Miklan’s hand — he doesn’t know, he doesn’t care, as long as he’s with Miklan, his brother can’t leave him, can’t let go of him right now. 

He shakes and his hips stutter for a while as he comes down to Miklan telling him how well he did. He’s grateful, a little sleepy, it feels nice. He wants to feel this good with Miklan again. 

Miklan nudges Sylvain’s face back, his neck resting in the crook of his arm. Sylvain blinks up into Miklan’s face, so close he can count the freckles they share across the bridge of his nose. It was one of the few things Miklan couldn’t tease him about, and he liked them. He’d think of his brother every time he passed a mirror and saw it. 

Miklan’s still breathing fairly heavily. He tells Sylvain to open his mouth again. Sylvain is dazed, his jaw still throbs — but he obeys. 

Something warm and viscous is being poured past his lips. It’s a little sour, it makes his nose twitch, but Miklan is slow, letting him adjust to it, so he continues to relax, letting his mind float away. It’s nice here in Miklan’s arms. He feels supported. 

Miklan’s breath tickles his forehead. “This is the only place I couldn’t get clean when I was washing you earlier.” Sylvain nods, still trying to figure out how he felt about the liquid that will soon be running down his throat.

Miklan finishes pouring all of it into his mouth and Sylvain swallows. His tongue feels like leather and he sticks it out, panting. It’s instinctual to run it over Miklan’s palm when he holds it there. 

There’s so much sticky fluid that’s hidden inside the slots of his thick fingers. Sylvain finds all the hidden spots, pointing the tiny tip into the creases and calluses all over Miklan’s hand. He doesn’t know what to do besides wait for Miklan to pull away. He’s so thirsty. Despite all the fluids that have filled his mouth, it still feels so _dry._

He coughs, looking up into Miklan’s eyes and reaches for his face, laying his hand against his cheek.

“I’m so thirsty, Aniki... is there water?”

Miklan smiles, kissing him genuinely like he did the first time — soft lips, wet from more reasons than he cares to count about, tasting Sylvain there, tasting himself as he slides his tongue all the way in toward the back of his throat again. 

He pulls away, the sound of Sylvain’s strangled whine shooting blood straight to his cock. He nuzzles his cheek against the top of his head. 

“There is, but we’ll have to save some of it to give you another bath. I’ll need to clean you again. Like they do in Sreng.” 


End file.
